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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164786">Blood and Other Hungers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acacius/pseuds/Acacius'>Acacius</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>What We Do in the Shadows (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2nd chapter is literally fueled by my adhd sorry, Attempt at Humor, Blood Drinking, F/M, Gen, Getting Together, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 02, Snowed In, using nandor as a vehicle for introspective thoughts is basically my hobby at this point, why do i always make guillermo cry in these one shots yikes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:48:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,629</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acacius/pseuds/Acacius</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the first winter post 2x10. Guillermo returns to the Staten Island house as the vampires’ bodyguard, but when a fierce snowstorm strands everyone in their homes, the vampires struggle to find a proper food source. </p><p>Guillermo, begrudgingly, offers up a temporary solution.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless, Laszlo Cravensworth/Nadja</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Split into 2 chapters—Chapter 1 will be primarily from Guillermo’s POV &amp; is more of a set-up/prologue while the 2nd chapter is from Nandor’s POV &amp; will more readily explore the new dynamics of the house post-Guillermo’s reveal as a vampire hunter. </p><p>Anyway, with that out of the way... i hope y’all enjoy ;3c</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>.</p><p>
  <em>.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”...and I hope / whatever is eating you alive does it as slowly as possible. / I know it doesn’t sound like it, / but this is a love poem, this is a love poem / this is a love poem / until it isn’t anymore.” </em>
</p><p>-Trista Mateer </p><p> </p><p>It’s Guillermo who notices first that they are all relatively shit out of luck.  </p><p>The wind continues to howl, punctuated now by the squawks and chitters of three bats in the midst of an argument. A lizard (gecko? Guillermo wasn’t sure what type of reptile Colin Robinson had turned into, only that he was grateful that the energy vampire couldn’t really feed while in animal form), meanwhile, chose to idly climb up one of the heavy drapes, looking as if he was tempted to try and eat one of the spiders that had made a cobweb near the end of the curtain rod. </p><p>All at once, the largest of the bats dissolves into a cloud of smoke, reappearing as a certain disheveled vampire. Nandor stomped his foot down, the frills of his white blouse jumping with the motion as he pointed at the reptile. “Colin Robinson, do not even think about it! You will not be eating the spider—don’t you have one of your internet webs to disturb for food?” </p><p>The lizard gives an obnoxiously long slow-blink, tongue darting out daringly towards the spider web, as if to say, <em> “What’re you gonna do about it?” </em>Guillermo was sure that if Colin was in his human form, he would be sporting a shit-eating grin at the visible rage on Nandor’s face. </p><p>With a hiss, Nandor rises towards the ceiling to pluck the lizard off the drapes, showing a rare measure of patience as he plops the energy vampire onto the sofa. When it came to animals—even annoying vampire housemates masquerading as animals—it was clear that Nandor had an unguarded soft spot. Not that Guillermo has much room to talk; he had let a vampiric assassin into the house just because they had disguised themselves as a cute little squirrel. </p><p>“No eating the spiders! That is final!” </p><p>Colin reverts to his human form, adjusting his spectacles and brown cardigan with a frown. “Geeze, no need to get handsy, Nandor. I wasn’t actually going to eat a spider. That would be gross.” </p><p>Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of a loud <em> thump </em>as one of the other bats collides headlong into the closed window. Laszlo reappears on the floor with a groan, cradling his head. Nadja is at his side a moment later, pale fingers brushing soothingly through his dark curls. </p><p>“He is starting to see things,” Nadja supplies, a rare look of unguarded concern in her gaze. “Sometimes I forget how young Laszlo is compared to us.” </p><p>Nandor’s lips pull into a worried grimace. “Will he be alright?” </p><p>“So long as he does not try and sneak out in the middle of the day…” Nadja trails, suddenly unsure. “This is different from when Colin Robinson tried to drain us to death.” </p><p>“Not to death,” the energy vampire interjects. “I admit, I got a bit overzealous at the end there, but—“ </p><p>Nadja ignores him. “He’s never had to deal with controlling his hunger like this. If he doesn’t eat Guillermo, I’m worried he will fly out, weak and malnourished, and get lost in a snowdrift.” </p><p>“Well, he can’t eat Guillermo,” Nandor replies quickly. </p><p>A small, pleased smile flits across Guillermo’s face. “Thank you—“ </p><p>“Because who will protect us from the Vampiric Council if Guillermo dies?” </p><p>Guillermo deflates immediately. </p><p>With a tired sigh, the only living human in the house slips out of the room. “I’m going to go take a nap. Please don’t kill me—or each other—while I’m asleep.” </p><p>He doesn’t wait for their response, letting the door to the library close behind him with enough force to rattle the hinges. </p><p>“Fucking ungrateful vampires…” he mutters to himself, knowing full well that they could all probably hear him. He was long past the point of caring. </p><hr/><p>The hours stretched into days, which stretched into mind-numbing weeks huddled together in front of the fireplace—and still, the snowstorm raged on. It was disturbing just how quickly the storm uprooted the vampires’ feeding habits—how quickly it seemed that they grew too weak to manage hunting on their own. </p><p>Guillermo had tried on multiple occasions to try and find edible humans—because even on the edge of supposed starvation, his vampires were still picky eaters—but the only options within walking distance were, unfortunately, their neighbors. And ever since the animal control incident with Laszlo, neighbors had been firmly removed from the possible pool of potential victims. </p><p>In other words, aside from Colin Robinson, who had managed to keep up with his own dietary demands through <em> accidentally </em>joining random Zoom meetings, the rest of the household was suffering under the weight of multiple meters of snow. Even Guillermo’s pantry of canned goods and other non-perishables was slowly dwindling away in the face of being unable to brave a trip to the grocery store, the snow and ice making it impossible to travel further than what he could manage on foot. </p><p>And, to make matters worse, the vampires, as hungry and irritated as they were, had now taken to bickering over the smallest of issues. It was driving Guillermo near mad. On more than one occasion he had to stop himself before he staked one of the vampires, his Van Helsing blood boiling at being stuck indefinitely in a house full of vampires that apparently had no qualms pushing Guillermo’s buttons despite knowing how easily he could kill them. Hence, something had to be done. </p><p>Guillermo knew of at least one solution to their woes—albeit a temporary one—but it wasn’t exactly easy for him to suggest it. Especially since it was Laszlo who was clearly affected the most by the lack of a steady blood supply. </p><p><em> I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this, </em>Guillermo thinks, rolling up his left sleeve. </p><p>The arguing between the three vampires dissipates immediately. </p><p>“Laszlo,” Guillermo grits out, fighting the urge to reach for the stake in his back pocket with his right hand, “You can have some of my blood, but I swear I’ll kill you if you don’t stop when I tell you to stop.” </p><p>Laszlo regards him for a moment as he always does—with a clear look of uninterest and, at worst, blatant disapproval. But then, almost imperceptibly, something in the vampire’s face shifts. It looks like gratitude, or perhaps a flicker of admiration, but it’s gone before Guillermo can dissect it further. </p><p>“Are you sure about this… Giz—I mean, Guillermo?” </p><p>It’s the first and only time Laszlo has ever addressed Guillermo by his real name. Not even the night of the theatre had roused such respect. He’d called him chap, sure, and heaped on other words of praise, but he had never said his name. Guillermo is happier about this then he thinks he has any reason to be, given how horridly the man has treated him over the years. </p><p>“Unfortunately… yeah, I’m sure.” </p><p>“You do not need to be doing this, Guillermo,” Nandor says, voice pitched in obvious concern. It reminds Guillermo of when he was working for Celeste—only this time what Guillermo is doing is decidedly more high-stakes than performing an interpretive dance for a woman pretending to be a vampire. </p><p>“I know. Trust me, I <em> really </em>wish there was another option, but…” he trails, shrugging. “I’ve already devoted more than a decade of my life to all of you. What’s a few pints of blood at this point?” </p><p>“Guillermo is right,” Nadja pipes up, smoothing out the ruffles in her skirts. “Giving blood is often a familiar’s job.”</p><p>Nandor frowns. “But Guillermo is no longer a familiar.” He turns to look at Guillermo again, expression softening. “I have still been treating you like one, and I am sorry for that.”</p><p>Nadja’s eyes widen at the apology while Laszlo merely sighs. </p><p>“We get it, Gizmo is more than a familiar—he’s our human housemate, blah, blah, blah. Can I have a nibble or not?” </p><p>“Definitely not if you’re going to call it that,” Guillermo mutters, approaching Laszlo with obvious trepidation. “Remember what I said—stop when I say stop. Or—“ </p><p>The vampire waves a hand. “I’ll be penetrated to death.” </p><p>Guillermo pales at the comment. “...Could you please just call it being staked to death?” </p><p>“What’s wrong with penetrate?” </p><p>Nadja nods along, flashing a fanged grin. “I like the word penetrate.” </p><p>Nandor, blessedly, swats at the both of them. “Stop it, you perverts! Guillermo is about to give his blood and this is how you repay him?” </p><p>Laszlo raises a brow salaciously. “We can repay him another way, if you’d like.” </p><p>And that’s where Guillermo loses his patience. He pinches his eyes shut, takes a deep breath, and sticks his arm out. “Laszlo, just bite me already before I change my mind.” </p><p>The vampire shrugs. “Fair enough. Hold still, old chap.”</p><p>True to his word, Laszlo doesn’t go overboard. In fact, to the obvious surprise of the other vampires in the room, Laszlo pulls away without even needing to be prompted, blood staining his lips and chin. </p><p>He gives Guillermo an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Right. Thanks for that.” </p><p>Guillermo nods, unclenching his fist. The twin pinpricks bleed sluggishly but before he can and get the first-aid supplies in the bathroom, Nandor is already making a beeline towards him, the wide, teal first-aid kit held carefully in his hands. </p><p>“I can do it myself—“</p><p>“Yes, yes, I’m sure you can,” Nandor cuts in with a clearly patronizing tone. “But I am an immortal warrior—I have bandaged many wounds in the past. Let a professional take care of this.” </p><p>“Oh, so you are a doctor now, Mr. Village Conquerer?” Nadja snaps, folding her arms over her chest. “I thought you were a pigshit housemate that spent his human life setting beautiful cities on fire!”</p><p>“She has a point,” Laszlo agrees, folding a comforting arm around his wife’s waist. </p><p>Nandor groans. “Nadja, I thought we were over this! I apologized already—“ </p><p>“No you didn’t,” Nadja quips back with a hiss. </p><p>“I did.” </p><p>“No you fucking didn’t!”</p><p>At Guillermo’s disappointed look, Nandor sighs, obviously resisting the urge to roll his eyes before he speaks. “Fine. I’m sorry for having burned your village down ages ago. I shouldn’t have done that.” </p><p>A triumphant smile spreads across Nadja’s face. “See, that wasn’t too difficult, was it?” </p><p>“Eughh…” Nandor trails, turning to Guillermo. He pantomimes the cutting of bandages. “Are you ready for me to cut some band-aids for you?” </p><p>Guillermo looks at him curiously. “You don’t need to cut anything, Nandor. The band-aids are wrapped individually.” </p><p>“Oh,” the vampire nods. “I see. I thought they were still sold as rolls.” </p><p>“When was the last time you used a band-aid to cover a wound?” </p><p>Nandor rubs his chin in thought. “Ah… that would have to be around 1923. I saw a child fall on a slippy bit of ice so I went into the store and got him a roll of band-aids for the cut on his face.”</p><p>“That was very kind of you,” Guillermo replies, smiling warmly. </p><p>Nandor quickly averts his gaze. Clearing his throat, he reaches for Guillermo’s arm, gently draping it over his lap. The first-aid kit opens with a click and the vampire busies himself with picking the right sized band-aid for the wound. Nandor applies the band-aid with little difficulty, but lingers all the same, thumb rubbing briefly against the fragile, visible network of blue veins in Guillermo’s inner wrist. </p><p>It’s only at Guillermo’s questioning, flushed look that Nandor pulls away, letting Guillermo’s arm fall away from him.</p><p>“Do you… do you need blood too?” Guillermo asks, fiddling with the sleeve that covered his uninjured wrist. The thought of Nandor drinking his blood stirs an entirely different feeling than it did with Laszlo. He can feel his heartbeat quicken in his chest, though it’s not out of fear. Guillermo would be lying if he didn’t admit to himself that there had always been a part of him that seemingly longed for the touch of Nandor’s fangs against his skin. More than eleven years at the vampire’s side and, despite it all, he had never really been in the position to offer his blood willingly until now. It was both a dream and a nightmare come to life, given the circumstances. </p><p>Nandor immediately clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head, paling. He leaves the room before Guillermo can even thank him for bandaging the wound. </p><p><em> I guess I’m just not up to Nandor’s standards, </em>Guillermo thinks bitterly, unable to scrub the memory of the nauseous look on Nandor’s face from his mind even as he settled into his bed to sleep.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>here are some (potentially fun) band-aid facts/history :D</p><p>-Officially designed in 1920–or, i assume, that’s when the patent was finalized since that’s the date listed from what i can recall off the top of my head</p><p>-It wasn’t until 1921 that Johnson &amp; Johnson started selling them commercially… it was a slow start in the beginning tbh. So yes, 2021 will mark the 100 year anniversary of the commercial debut of band-aids :D</p><p>-It wasn’t until 1924 that band-aids began to be sold in individual wrapping like we know today… they used to be sold by the roll &amp; you’d have to cut out the amount you needed to cover the wound.</p><p>-Interestingly, though, the first-aid kit was actually invented around 1888. It didn’t have band-aids in it… just, like, actual bandages. And they were originally invented for railroad workers. The more ya know!</p><p>-And band-aids were created by a man who sold cotton to/for Johnson &amp; Johnson… his wife was notoriously clumsy &amp; would hurt herself accidentally in the kitchen. Before the invention of band-aids, there wasn’t any form of sterile first-aid that could address tiny cuts… most people would just use clean cloths/rags and wrap it around the wound to stop the bleeding &amp; ward against infection. So yeah, band-aids are a labor of love—another example of someone who became an inventor sheerly out of love and a desire to make their loved one’s life easier</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Eclipse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The snowstorm rages on.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em>“The word "eclipse" comes from ancient Greek ekleipsis, “a forsaking, quitting, abandonment.” The sun quits us, we are forsaken by light.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>-Anne Carson, “Totality, The Colour of Eclipse,” in Decreation </em>
</p><p>
  <em> . </em>
</p><p>
  <em> . </em>
</p><p>Nandor had arguably gone through worse in his life. The years had not always been kind to him, though he thought he hid it rather well. </p><p>The days leading up to being turned into a vampire, back when he was still human and fragile in a way that he would not understand until his heart stopped beating, were marked by a kind of hunger that he could not readily explain in words. It transcended language—hunger had become him, in a sense. All his thoughts and feelings were overshadowed by the ache of an empty stomach, the delirium of another night without food. </p><p>This, Nandor decides, is nowhere near as painful. Nor as dire. And yet… </p><p>“<em>Shit,</em>” he says aloud to an empty room. In a fit of sudden irritation, he sweeps his hand out, accidentally knocking a candle to the ground. The force of its fall thankfully snuffs out the flame, but melted wax dribbles in red, sticky puddles as the candle rolls across the floor, coming to rest at the edge of the carpet in the center of the room. </p><p>If Nandor was adequately fed, the mess the candle made would have bothered him. But Nandor has not had a decent meal in weeks and the last thing he was worried about was whether or not his crypt—that no one aside from himself, Guillermo, and occasionally, his other housemates, ventured into—was presentable. </p><p>Slumping into the armchair in the corner, Nandor closes his eyes and desperately tries to steer his thoughts away from the tempting fount of blood that slept only a few rooms away. If he was in a better state of mind, he would certainly chide Guillermo. To tell him to stop being so trusting and kind in the face of hungry monsters—monsters Guillermo himself had fed for over a decade now. After all, he was a vampire slayer, wasn’t he? What would his ancestors think, Nandor wonders, if they saw Guillermo now. </p><p>One moment, the human was a vampire’s worst nightmare—ruthless, cunning, and swift as he cut through his enemies, as unstoppable as a force of nature, leaving only rot and ruin in his wake. Then, as if he were waking from a dream, Guillermo is once again the person Nandor had secretly grown to adore—sweet, trusting, vulnerable in the clumsy way that all humans are, no sign of the man drenched in the blood of hundreds of vampires. </p><p>When it came to unnatural dichotomies, much of the same could be said about Nandor. He was aware of his own mellowing over the years—how he very rarely thought of conquest or bloodshed outside of reminiscing over his past as a human warlord. He was comfortable simply playing chess with Guillermo, comfortable letting the night dwindle away in the peaceful domesticity that he had not known since he was a child. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? </p><p>Eventually, everyone grew tired. Even vampires. Live long enough and you’ll learn that, more often than naught, it is the simple, invaluable moments that keep you moving forward when even your bones begin to ache in protest at the start of a new day. Mostly, though, Nandor was struck with the realization that all he wanted nowadays was to live in peace, a far cry from his days as a relentless conqueror. </p><p>It’s a realization that leaves him restless, staring aimlessly up at the lid of his coffin. How simpler things would be, he thinks, if he had never met Guillermo at all. How much lonelier he would be without him, he thinks, letting the only heartbeat in the house lull him into a tired, dreamless sleep.</p><p>
  <strong>**</strong>
</p><p>Nadja, who had braved the storms of hunger for most of her human life, fairs far better than Nandor despite the gap in age. Nandor, for what it’s worth, acts as if everything is fine—up until it definitely isn’t. </p><p>The library is silent, save for the crackling of the flames within the fireplace. Guillermo tends to it as if his life depends on it. Belatedly, Nandor realizes that this is probably true; the house lacks any central heating or cooling, after all, and Guillermo, for all his warm, knitted sweaters and woolen socks, is still human and susceptible to the cold in a way that vampires aren’t. The undead feel heat and cold just as the living—perhaps even more so given the state of their biology—but it could very rarely be deadly to them aside from actual fire or ice. </p><p>Nadja and Laszlo are in a fairly pleasant mood; Laszlo, still riding the high that comes with fresh blood, seems renewed in both spirit and mind. Nadja, who remained as poised and collected as she did at the start of the snow-in, bats her eyelashes suggestively. The pair quickly saunter off to their own crypt, leaving Guillermo and Nandor alone. </p><p>Nandor fidgets, first toying with the ring on his finger before thumbing through one of his books. He flips through the book in manic bursts, clearly not retaining anything on the pages. </p><p>Guillermo sighs then, a quiet, dejected thing, and Nandor’s head jerks up, eyes flashing gold for a brief moment. </p><p>“You’re hungry,” Guillermo observes, folding his arms. </p><p>“I’m not,” Nandor insists. </p><p>When Guillermo takes a step towards him, Nandor instinctively pushes himself further back against the sofa. </p><p>At Guillermo’s pointed look, Nandor hisses. “I was worried you were going to stake me, vampire killer! Yes, that is why I moved away. Not because I am hungry.”</p><p>Guillermo stares at him for a long time, silent aside from the calm patter of his heartbeat. Eventually, he settles on a tired grimace. “Is my blood really that disgusting to you? Laszlo didn’t seem to mind it.” </p><p>“Laszlo’s palette isn’t as refined as mine.” </p><p>“I’m a virgin,” Guillermo deadpans. </p><p>This elicits another hiss from the vampire, but this time it’s accompanied by a change in features. Dark sclera and gold irises are set in the midst of a hardened brow, casting Nandor’s face almost entirely in shadow. The fire in the fireplace burns hotter, quickly eating away at the logs. </p><p>Nandor clenches his jaw hard enough to nearly pierce the inside of his cheek with his fangs. “Why would you say that?” </p><p>“...Because it’s true. And because I want to help you.” </p><p>“I don’t want your help!” </p><p>This, to Nandor’s surprise, earns him a short burst of laughter from Guillermo. It’s almost jarring enough that, quite frankly, he wonders if Guillermo has finally snapped. Eleven years in the service of vampires—surely something would eventually have to give in his little human brain. </p><p>Guillermo approaches slowly once his giggles subside. “That’s really funny, Nandor. I’ve been helping you for the last eleven years.” </p><p>“Not like this.” </p><p>Guillermo nods. “Not like this. But…” His cheeks bloom temptingly. “I don’t want you to starve.” </p><p>“I’ve suffered worse,” Nandor replies, wrinkling his nose. </p><p>“That doesn’t change the fact that you aren’t eating.” Guillermo’s voice dips to a soft whisper. “I know you won’t feed on animals like Nadja and Laszlo have been doing. You’re probably hungrier than both of them.” </p><p>Nandor hisses, but it’s more in tired desperation than anything else. Gone was the usual flare of anger at having his vulnerabilities brought to light, cooled now to near resignment. </p><p>“What if I eat you alive?” Nandor eventually settles on, tone dark and unyielding. It had been a long time since he had actually wanted to <em> scare </em>Guillermo. But if he could make him leave, rescind his offer of fresh, warm blood, then maybe Nandor wouldn’t have to admit to the very reason as to why he was so adamant against feeding from him. </p><p>A wry smile slips across Guillermo’s face. “Oh, I wouldn’t let you do that.” For emphasis, he tucks one hand behind his back before revealing a wooden stake. His face softens then, letting the stake clatter to the floor. “But, for what it’s worth… I trust you.” </p><p>“Why?” </p><p>Guillermo startles in surprise at the question, but it’s only for a moment. A steely kind of resolve is present in his eyes as it was in the theatre. “You’ve never hurt me—at least intentionally—in over eleven years. There were plenty of times you could have—times where I was defenseless. I mean until recently, I didn’t even have a door to my bedroom. And you’ve saved me—multiple times. You saved me from being eaten by the Vampiric Council—and almost died for me. You saved me from Topher. You even tried to save me back at the theatre—kind of, when you made up that lie about killing me. So let me do this for you. Please.”</p><p>Nandor doesn’t know how to reply. He opens his mouth and closes it, feeling much too similar to the mechanical talking fish that Laszlo had prattled on about after his stint on the run. When Guillermo approaches this time, Nandor can’t help but rise to meet him, sweeping one ringed hand over Guillermo’s shoulder while the other curls into the soft fabric of his sweater, hovering just above the warm flesh of his hip. </p><p>“Alright,” Nandor agrees, meeting Guillermo’s gaze. “If you’re sure.” </p><p>
  <strong>**</strong>
</p><p>When all is said and done, when the promise of rich, life-giving blood rests willingly between his teeth, Nandor feels a dizzying amount of responsibility. Perhaps it is a poor choice of comparison, but his thoughts immediately drift to John, to the horse that he steered through battlefields, who he guided into the very maw of war without a hint of trepidation. </p><p>Horses were fragile, skittish creatures. Trust, Nandor had learned fairly early in his human life, was the only balm to their anxious nature. A horse without a trusted rider would inevitably try to outrun its sense of fear, often unconsciously galloping headlong into the fray to meet its untimely death. Humans, coincidentally, at least in his opinion as a centuries old vampire, were much like horses. </p><p>They were fragile, to begin with. And they seemingly sprinted through life as if they were constantly being chased by some wild animal. They only had a meager amount of years to live and yet they wasted them on thoughts of the future—a future that wasn’t even guaranteed. If there was one thing that vampirism taught him, it was to cherish the present. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing is promised to you. What you might think is a way out of loneliness or sadness or fear could actually be the very thing that kills you. Cruelty and kindness could not be predicted. Trust—whether it was trust in humans or vampires or even the stray cat that you leave food for outside your porch every morning—was the only true equalizer. A way to wake each day and face the world for what it was. To trust that those you cared for would remain by your side. </p><p>Perhaps it is thanks to Guillermo, Nandor thinks, that ever so slowly, he was learning to put his trust in someone else. He had Nadja and Laszlo, of course, and he even trusted Colin Robinson to some degree, but this was different. Nadja and Laszlo were harmless; he had assumed Colin Robinson was harmless up until a few months ago. But Guillermo had been dangerous to him even before he knew of his vampire slaying bloodline. </p><p>It had been a long time—perhaps even the first time since becoming a vampire—that Nandor wanted to keep someone in his life indefinitely. It was the first time that he wanted to be seen as something other than a cool and powerful vampire. He wanted to be seen, known, understood, and that was dangerously close to wanting to be loved. </p><p>So it is no surprise, really, that this would be the moment where Nandor lets his defenses fall—lets the tenderness that he fought against for years finally slip through the cracks in his ancient walls. And, against all odds, it manages to pour out of him like a flood. </p><p>“It will be alright,” Nandor murmurs, threading a careful hand through Guillermo’s hair until he is cradling his head as gently as if he were holding a glass figurine. Nandor had plenty of experience using this vantage point to sink his teeth into flesh, to use his hands to twist the head from the body afterwards. There is a reason he owns head-ripping gloves, after all. But this is Guillermo and the desire to feed or even to kill pales in comparison to the familiar scent and warmth that presses willingly against him. </p><p>“I know.” </p><p>Guillermo’s hold around his waist tightens and Nandor feels something he thought long-expired curl around his heart. Nandor presses his lips against Guillermo’s throat, listens to the momentary uptick in blood rushing through his body, and it only makes him wish they could stay like this forever. He could spend ages memorizing every thrum of Guillermo’s heart, every quickened breath, every sweet sigh. There is something utterly enthralling about it all, something heady and intoxicating about finally letting himself indulge in what had, until this moment, existed only in his dreams. It probably isn’t just a vampire thing, Nandor imagines, the desire to know someone down to the very way their heart sings in their chest. </p><p>When Nandor finds his voice again, he speaks with an aching sense of finality, letting his lips skim against skin, letting the juncture between Guillermo’s shoulder and neck soften the sound. “You have nothing to fear, Guillermo. Not when you mean so much to me.” </p><p>It doesn’t take him long to realize that Guillermo is crying now, chest shaking with the effort to reign in his tears—but ultimately failing. The sound lances through him like a stake. </p><p>“I-I… I must be dreaming,” Guillermo sniffs, hot tears spilling down his cheeks and down onto Nandor’s brow. “This can’t be real.” </p><p>Nandor stills completely then, more corpse than vampire, painfully aware of just how horribly he’s treated Guillermo up until this point. In shielding his own heart, in keeping Guillermo selfishly at a safe distance, he had hurt him. Wounded him. </p><p>“This is real… I am sorry that I was not brave enough to tell you the truth until now.” </p><p>What he felt for Guillermo—whether he was brave enough to admit what it was, what it could be, what he wanted it so desperately to be—eclipsed everything. Hunger. Fear. Loneliness. Grief. It all fell away in the shadow of eleven years together. Eleven years of inside jokes and knowing glances. Eleven years of well-worn routines and rituals. Eleven years of comfortable domesticity, punctuated by the sense that, in another life, in another place, they could be something more. That this was the home he had been searching for ever since his heart stopped beating. </p><p>“...You can really be such an asshole sometimes,” Guillermo replies eventually, his voice on the edge of laughter. </p><p>Nandor, despite himself, lets out a snort. “I know.” </p><p>“Like really, really mean. And rude.” </p><p>“Okay, I get it. I am not the easiest vampire to get along with.” </p><p>“Or love.” </p><p>Nandor opens his mouth to reply, but finds himself stopping short. Here he was, standing over the one precipice that he knew he could not return from. But as he pulls away to look at Guillermo’s flushed face, as he looks into the same brown eyes that had tugged at his heart the moment they first crossed paths all those years ago, Nandor knows that he only has one option. If he’s going to fall over the edge, he’s going to do it on his own terms. </p><p>“Love,” he says, testing the weight of the word on his tongue. “Yes. Unlike me, you are very easy to love.” </p><p>There is only a momentary pause--as brief as a heartbeat--before his gaze flickers to Guillermo’s lips. Nandor surges forward. </p><p>Guillermo returns the kiss with just as much desperation. It’s messy and clumsy and not even remotely how someone who has partaken in numerous orgies over the course of seven-hundred years should kiss, but it didn’t seem like Guillermo was complaining. Entwined as tightly as coiled springs, each kiss shared between them was imperfect and dizzying and at one point he had to be reminded that Guillermo needed to breathe between kisses—which is to say that Nandor was already hopelessly falling more in love with him. </p><p>It’s only when his fang snags on Guillermo’s bottom lip, the barest hint of blood coating his tongue, that Nandor remembers he is, for all intents and purposes, near-starving. Only centuries of self-control keeps him from springing forward and dipping his tongue into the bleeding wound. He knows what he must look like now, features twisting at the taste of blood, revealing his true form—of the monster that lurked within. </p><p>So it is with a strangled, surprised moan that he finds Guillermo pushing forward, bringing his own bleeding mouth against Nandor’s fangs.There is a brief moment of resistance, body rigid and frozen at the sweet, ambrosial taste of Guillermo’s blood, before Nandor melts into the kiss. </p><p>He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, though at some point Nandor is dimly aware that a brief flare of possessiveness has him locking the door to the room with a wave of his hand. Even in his blood-hazed state, Nandor knows his housemates, knows that the sudden and unexplained scent of Guillermo’s blood in the air would undoubtedly bring them swarming to the library like blowflies. </p><p>He even thinks he might have let out a few guttural growls—something he’d be secretly embarrassed about later because, really, he’s over seven-hundred years old now; surely a few drops of blood from a cut lip shouldn’t be affecting him like this—but Guillermo remains warm and encouraging, never shying away even when Nandor’s head dips to his shoulder. </p><p>“Thank you,” Nandor whispers, tone achingly soft as he opens his mouth, revealing the sharp points of his teeth. </p><p>When his fangs pierce through the skin at Guillermo’s throat, when the blood begins to pour into his waiting mouth, when Guillermo wraps his arms around him, a beacon of warmth and light, Nandor feels the sudden and overwhelming prickle of tears for the first time in centuries. </p><p><em>So this is love</em>, Nandor thinks. The taste of Guillermo’s blood reminded him of sunlight—and, somehow, it doesn’t burn. Where his heart was once cold and lifeless, Nandor feels the faintest stir of a heartbeat, an echo of centuries ago brought back to life. It’s as human as he has ever felt since becoming a vampire and it’s Guillermo’s blood—his love, his selflessness, his kindness—that keeps Nandor’s heart beating a slow, familiar, ancient song. When Nandor pulls away, gently tracing a finger over the bite, he does not think of hunger. It is with a measured amount of care and attention that Nandor tends to Guillermo’s wound and later fetches him a glass of water—since he already had the sneaking suspicion that Guillermo didn’t drink enough water daily to begin with. </p><p>
  <strong>**</strong>
</p><p>A few days later, as if willed by supernatural forces beyond human comprehension, the snowstorm abates overnight. Snow is shoveled, roads are salted, and life returns to normal all within the span of a few hours. It just so happens that it is around the same time that a certain vampire who had last been seen flying out of the theatre massacre rings their doorbell. </p><p>“You win,” Vladislav says when Guillermo answers the door, stake in hand. “So can you please let me in? I’m freezing to death out here. Metaphorically, of course.” </p><p>With Nandor’s unusually helpful advice (“Well, if it is a trap, it does not matter since you can easily kill him.”), Guillermo allows the disheveled vampire into their abode—but makes proper note that it is a one-time allowance. The general rules that came with the supernatural were fairly robust and could help you out in a pinch if you bothered to learn them. Fortunately for Guillermo, he had picked up the rules rather quickly during his years as a familiar. </p><p>Settling awkwardly into one of the armchairs, Vladislav sighs heavily. “This is not easy to admit, but I think we—as in the Vampiric Council—may have to pardon all of you.” </p><p>“...Excuse me?” Guillermo asks, nearly burning his tongue on the mug of coffee he’s nursing for the night. </p><p>“Isn’t it obvious? The snowstorm was our doing. You know how it is… we’ve got a few vampires at our disposal who can alter the weather. What better way to kill them, I thought, then have them kill the human first. Weakened as they would be from starvation, it would hardly be much of a fight once you were out of the picture.” </p><p>Nandor wrinkles his nose. “Did you get that <em> Bath </em>lady to help you with the snowstorm? I would have guessed the Baron, but you already know what happened to him.” He shrugs. “I prefer the Baron to that woman any day. Her brand of torture wasn’t even macabre—just sad. And confusing. Why would a vampire bathe in the blood of virgins? That’s such a waste.” </p><p>Guillermo stares incredulously. “Bath lady… wait, are you talking about <em> Elizabeth Bathory? </em>” </p><p>Nandor nods. “Yes. We met once. I was not impressed. She kills 600 humans and suddenly she’s one of the most famous vampires in the world? Yeesh—I killed triple that number as a soldier <em> and </em>it was happening on a battlefield. All Mrs. Bath Lady did was sit on a sofa while her familiars fetched her meals.”</p><p>“Is that it? That’s what you’re hung up on? That we asked for Elizabeth’s help?” Vladislav asks, wishing more than anything that he was back in Wellington. Vampires that lived in America were an entirely different  breed of strange and unusual that he was not accustomed to. </p><p>Truthfully, Nandor’s initial thought was that he really should send the Vampiric Council a gift basket, all things considered. Sure, they tried to kill them on multiple occasions… but they had also managed to concoct the perfect series of events to force him to admit his feelings for his ex-familiar. Instead of voicing these thoughts, however, Nandor instead reaches over to squeeze Guillermo’s hand, lacing their fingers together. </p><p>“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Vladislav says, expression torn between perplexed and nauseated. </p><p>Nandor raises a brow. He doesn’t even entertain the notion of letting go of Guillermo’s hand. If anything, he’s already retracting his previous idea of a gift basket—maybe a box of wooden stakes would be more appropriate if all the Council members were such assholes. “What? Just because I had 37 wives—35 of which that I really loved—you think that means I can’t love a human man? That seems a bit <em> home of phobic </em>for a vampire.” </p><p>“Homophobic,” Guillermo corrects.</p><p>“Yes, that.” </p><p>Vladislav scrubs a hand over his face. “It’s not upsetting to me that he’s a man, you imbecile. It’s upsetting because he’s a vampire killer!” </p><p>“Guillermo prefers the term <em> vampire </em>hunter,” Nandor explains. His eyes light up a moment later. “Oh, also, his last name is Dee Lah Croose.”</p><p>“<em>De la Cruz,</em>” Guillermo clarifies. “But that was actually pretty close this time. Good job, Nandor.” </p><p>The vampire visibly preens under the praise. </p><p>Vladislav looks ready to fly away in his bat form, but he grounds his teeth together and it is only by a single hanging thread of sanity that he remains rooted inside the Staten Island house. He resorts to promising himself that he’ll find a frat party later to drain dry. He really can’t imagine being sober after all this. </p><p>“Anyway… I just wanted to stop by to tell you all that the Council is on an indefinite hiatus for now.” Vladislav makes sure to give Guillermo a pointed look. “If you would be so kind as to <em> stop </em>ruthlessly killing vampires that would be great.” </p><p>“...I’ll try my best?” Guillermo replies, though it’s more of a confused question than anything else. </p><p>With that, Vladislav goes to take his leave, but stops and turns on his heel once he’s safely crossed the threshold of the house. He pinches at the bridge of his nose with a rattling sigh. “For what it’s worth… this whole thing,” he gestures vaguely to Nandor and Guillermo’s intertwined fingers, “Seems much healthier than whatever personal problems you were complaining about at the theatre. So don’t fuck it up.” </p><p>And then, suddenly, Vladislav is gone, his bat-shaped form disappearing behind a canopy of trees. </p><p>Nandor and Guillermo share a small, knowing grin. </p><p>“You know, Nadja, Laszlo, and Colin Robinson are supposed to be gone for a few more hours… perhaps we could have a celebration of our own?” Nandor near purrs, unable to resist pulling Guillermo closer. </p><p>Guillermo leans into the touch, chuckling as he loops his arms around Nandor. “My room or your room?” </p><p>“My room,” Nandor decides. “The big blue room is nice and all, but I think the candles in my crypt make for a rather romantic atmosphere.” </p><p>Guillermo hums in agreement, giving the vampire a quick peck on the cheek. “Yeah. Let’s try and <em> not </em>burn the drapes down this time, though.” </p><p>“No promises,” Nandor teases, leading Guillermo back to his crypt. “You are very distracting.” </p><p>“So are you,” Guillermo says, already shutting the crypt door behind them. </p><p>The candles in the room all light at once, bathing the crypt in a warm, orange glow. The candlelight suits Guillermo, Nandor thinks, surging forward with practiced ease to kiss him. There is something about the way the light falls over him that makes Guillermo look even more alive and human than usual. The years spent in the service of vampires had taken its toll; if it wasn’t for Guillermo’s steady heartbeat, if it wasn’t for the sting of silver that burned Nandor’s hands when he ran his palm over the skin above his sternum long after the crucifix was removed, if it wasn’t for the array of hidden stakes that Nandor kept finding tucked into various articles of Guillermo’s clothing, it would be easy enough to imagine that he was already a vampire. The scent of death--human and vampire--permeated the air wherever Guillermo went.</p><p>It was only in moments like this where the illusion shattered with the warm undertones of Guillermo’s skin. Soon, he knows he’ll need to turn Guillermo, both for his safety and to realize the human’s lifelong dream, but for now, Nandor plans on savoring the sensation of falling asleep to the steady rhythm of Guillermo’s heart. <br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Important notes: </p><p>1) thank u to everyone who has left comments/kudos/etc. to any of my fics!! The wwdits fandom is one of the kindest fandoms I’ve been in &amp; it’s really thanks to y’all that I’ve found my writing groove again &lt;333 there’s also so many talented writers and artists &amp; I’m always floored by the quality of writing i see on here... gushing aside, i just wanted to say that even tho I’m shy &amp; bad at conversations, it’s been a delight to share this tiny corner of fandom with everyone~ </p><p>2) the stuff abt Elizabeth Bathory and the blood-bathing is likely fictitious in nature. While she very likely tortured many women over the years, the bathing in virgin blood thing wasn’t cited anywhere until roughly 100 yrs after her death, so i doubt its validity. An interesting fact tho that i don’t think is well known, however, is that Bathory was allegedly a very sickly child (due to inbreeding in her royal family) and, at the time (mid 1500s), remedies for afflictions such as epilepsy did entail drinking the blood of non-epileptics. Some ppl think this is what could have motivated her to commit such heinous crimes when she was older—in an attempt to heal her seizures which likely came back in full force as she grew into later adulthood. </p><p>3) i have an alternate idea/ending where simon the devious pops up bc he can enter the house thru the sewers &amp; the Staten Island crew have to learn to navigate the sewers to get their next meal. I’m lowkey a simon stan so i always end up wanting to find a way to incorporate him into fic, haha</p><p>3) I’m probably a horrible forensic analyst to not know this off the top of my head, but i had to ask my coworker how much blood the avg human could lose &amp; still survive... which is ~2000mL give or take. &amp; yet, i somehow knew that each eye has approx. 4.4mL of vitreous fluid (so ~9mL max)... what can i say: my brain is a mystery lmao. Oh also i think this is common knowledge, but please remember to drink lots of water before you give/donate blood! It makes it much easier for the phlebotomist ^^</p><p>4) I’m horribly slow at replies (&amp; chatting in general), but ur always welcome to come say hi on tumblr @nandoor<br/>I hope to be more active there in 2021 so [fingers crossed]</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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